


Heartbeat, Fast/Heartbeat, Slow

by freosan



Series: Cascade [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Blood Kink, Gladio does not, Gladio might be developing some kinks of his own, Ignis is a good dom, Knife Play, M/M, Prompto is still bringing the feels, Prompto likes it, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Sadism, but pretty scary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-13
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-01 14:51:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12707172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freosan/pseuds/freosan
Summary: Ignis’s tongue dives into Prompto's mouth to swallow up his moans, and Ignis rolls his hips, a long, slow movement that makes Prompto’s whole body cry out for more. He can’t move, though, can barely even open his mouth to speak with Ignis’s blade at his throat.Prompto knows this is just for him. Ignis would never get this close to threatening Noct, not even if Noct begged him for it. He can only do this to Prompto. This Ignis, the one with gloves on and hair up and knife out, the one with his breath coming ragged the more Prompto writhes underneath him, this is all his.





	1. Chapter 1

Prompto wakes up being shoved face down into his pillows.

He shouts, and struggles, kicking back and bucking, but his assailant has a lock on his wrist and twists it cruelly up behind his back, until the muscles in his shoulder feel like they might rip. He grits his teeth against the pain and jams his free elbow back into the nearest body part. But that arm, too, gets grabbed and wrenched into place, and before he knows what’s happening there’s a knee in his back, holding him down while leather straps are wound around his elbows and buckled tight at his wrists, locking his arms together behind him.

“Get the _fuck_ off me,” he snarls as he tries to get his feet under him.

The person on top of him grabs a handful of his hair, yanks his head back, and leans down to speak into his ear. “Good morning, Prompto.”

Prompto relaxes with a huge huff of breath, all his fight gone up in smoke the second he recognizes Ignis’s voice. Ignis releases his hair and strokes his bare shoulders with delicate fingers, and his weight settles on Prompto’s thighs.

“Iggy,” Prompto says, his voice muffled by the pillows. “Fuck. I was gonna try and kill you.”

“And that is why I revealed myself when I did,” Ignis says. Prompto can hear the smile. “How are you this morning?”

“Really, really awake?” Prompto offers. He works his hands a little, shifts his torso as much as he can, testing the bonds Ignis put on him. He thinks it might be a couple of belts. They’re solid, but comfortable. Iggy really knows what he’s doing with this stuff. Prompto’s not going anywhere without his say-so.

Ignis chuckles quietly from above him. “Noctis and Gladio are still at the campsite,” he says. Prompto figured they would be; there was some kind of legendary fish out there, and since he hasn’t gotten a supremely proud text with a picture yet, he doubts Noct’s caught it. Not to mention that Noct is definitely not up at this hour. Not without Ignis to scare the shit out of him.

“So what, you thought you’d make them jealous?” Prompto asks. He rolls his hips, testing, against the mattress. Ignis doesn’t move to stop him or to help him.

“I thought we could take the opportunity to discuss your interests further,” Ignis says. The words are formal, but the hand laid flat between Prompto’s shoulder blades is _intimate_. “There are aspects of our relationship that I felt you would be more comfortable exploring in private.”

Prompto’s breath catches. Suddenly his head is full of images. They clash and collide in a mess of sensory confusion, hands and teeth and knives, want and pain and fear, and most of them end in Prompto screaming.

Ignis leans forward and drops a kiss on Prompto’s shoulder. “You understand what I mean.”

“I think so, yeah,” Prompto says. He’s light-headed and not just because it’s hard to breathe with his head down in the bedsheets like this. And he’s starting to get hard, uncomfortable where his cock is trapped between his body and the mattress.

Ignis puts his hands on Prompto's shoulders, and kneads the muscles there. It feels good, but there's a pressure that could hurt, if Ignis wanted it to. Prompto itches with the need for him to make it hurt.

"So what were you thinking?" he asks. "Because I could work with this…" he trails off with a groan as Ignis's fingers find some kind of pressure point in his shoulder and dig in. It's still just on the safe side of painful and he wants _more_.

"When the three of us went through that list of activities," Ignis begins, finding another pressure point, "we discussed weapons. Noctis wasn't interested in anything that would make you bleed, but you were, weren't you?"

He waits, rubbing circles on Prompto's skin, making the hairs on the back of Prompto's neck stand up. "Yeah," Prompto says. "I was."

Ignis hums. "I wonder if you'd still be?"

"Fuck yes," spills out of Prompto's mouth before he even thinks about it. "Yeah. Yes. Astrals, do you know how hot you are with those knives?"

Ignis doesn’t answer in words. Instead his thumb digs into Prompto’s back, finding a space between the muscles and pushing down with what feels like all his weight. Prompto fights the pain instinctively, at first, tries to twist and pull away. As Ignis applies more pressure, Prompto closes his eyes and lets out a sigh that turns into a whimper. He tries to stay still but he only manages it halfway; his chest stays put but his toes curl and he lifts his hips again to rut against the blankets.

“You do love that, don’t you?” Ignis asks quietly.

Prompto nods, and only then does Ignis release him. His fingertips return to tracing delicate patterns over Prompto’s shoulders and upper arms. Prompto shivers and rolls his shoulders back into the touch.

“More?” Ignis asks. Prompto nods, again, almost frantically. Ignis is good to him; this time his thumbs find symmetrical spots just where Prompto’s collarbone joins to his shoulders, and he digs in until Prompto feels himself baring his teeth, until the moan rises out of his throat and bursts out into a shout, until he’s kicking his feet against the mattress.

Ignis lets go but keeps his hands on Prompto’s shoulders. Prompto lets himself fall limp while he heaves air back into his lungs.

After a while, Ignis’s hands leave his shoulders; Prompto sighs at the loss of heat. Ignis’s weight comes off his thighs and Ignis’s hands grab the waistband of his boxers, dragging them off him. Prompto lifts his hips to help. Without them, he’s naked except for the band on his right wrist and the straps around his arms. His breath catches with anticipation, because he’s pretty sure the next thing Ignis wants will be…

“Turn over, Prompto.”

Prompto flips himself over awkwardly, wriggling as he settles on his back to try and get comfortable. There’s a bit of a stretch in his shoulders, but it’s not too bad. He can see Ignis now. Ignis is dressed, the only nod to the heat and the situation his rolled-back shirt sleeves. He’s got his _fucking_ gloves on.

“Legs out straight,” Ignis says. Prompto licks his lips, and stretches out of the half-curled position he landed in. Now his back is arched, and there’s no way to cover himself, especially when Ignis lifts an eyebrow and adds, “And knees apart.”

Prompto shifts his legs apart, exposing himself completely. Ignis looks at him - no, Ignis devours him with his eyes, and Prompto displays his body as best he can without disobeying any of his commands. He tries to be good - put on a bit of a show, for Ignis, so he feels like he’s deserving of that intent green stare. But he can’t help that he has to turn his head away, or that he’s chewing on his lower lip.

Ignis walks around the three open sides of the bed, inspecting him from every angle. Prompto watches him from under his lashes as long as he can. He can never figure out if he hates or loves this part, letting Ignis look at him, the way he always seems to want to do. His body, though, knows better. He shivers in a way that’s got nothing to do with the temperature and he twists his shoulders and hips, trying to reconcile the order to keep his legs spread with the need for some kind of touch as his cock hardens further.

“You’re beautiful,” Ignis says. Prompto’s face heats up. “And always so responsive,” Ignis adds. He sits on the bed and reaches out to touch Prompto’s hip, his gloved hand just resting on the curve of bone, and Prompto lets out a shuddery sigh.

“Very good,” Ignis murmurs.

Ignis climbs back on the bed and swings one leg over Prompto’s stomach, straddling him once more. Prompto arches up off the bed to try and meet him. He doesn’t quite get there. Ignis stays lifted above him, not pinning him down the way Prompto wants. Prompto intends to grumble about it but the noise comes out more like a moan.

“Are you sure about this, Prompto?” Ignis asks. He cups Prompto’s cheek with one hand; the other braces his weight on the opposite side of Prompto’s head. Prompto may not be pinned, but he feels caged in, trapped. Safe and held.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” he says. Rubs his face against Ignis’s palm, mostly to see Ignis’s serious look soften. Partly to get Ignis to pet his hair like a dog. The leather of the gloves isn’t as good as Ignis’s nails, but his bare thumb traces Prompto’s cheekbone. Prompto smiles up at him even as he takes his hand away.

There’s a shimmer in the air, and a dagger appears in Ignis’s raised hand. Prompto follows it with his eyes, the rest of him perfectly still, as Ignis brings it down towards his face. The tip of the blade lands just below his left eye, and Ignis slides it down his cheek - the edge of the metal glides over his skin and leaves a cool trail that Prompto can’t be sure isn’t a cut - and under his jaw.

Now Ignis sits back, weight on Prompto’s hips, so Prompto’s erection rubs right up against his ass. Prompto groans; Iggy’s such a fucking _tease_ sometimes. He can’t be too mad though. The tip of the dagger digs into the soft flesh of Prompto’s throat, and he lets it guide his head back until his neck is exposed. It pauses there, and Prompto hears a slight shuffling of fabric, like Ignis is searching in a pocket.

Ignis’s elegant, black-gloved hand places a single, bright red feather on the bedside table. Prompto’s heart starts doing double time.

“Iggy, what…?”

“It’s a precaution,” Ignis says. His knuckles trace over Prompto’s cheek, warm through the thin leather. “I don’t intend to use it if it isn’t necessary. Try not to make it so.”

“Me?” Prompto says, adrenaline making it come out half a laugh and breathless. “You’re the one with the knives!”

“Indeed. And what would happen if I were to slip?” Prompto looks at up at Ignis, out of the corner of his eye. He can see that Ignis has his serious face on. His, like, _Noct-needs-a-hi-potion_ face. His _we’re-all-about-to-die-painfully_ face.

“You won’t. I trust you,” Prompto says. He tilts his head down just a little. The point of the dagger drives into the skin below his jaw, making him wince, and Prompto catches how Ignis’s eyes widen. He thinks he might have drawn blood for real this time.

“Hold _still_ , Prompto,” Ignis says, sounding a little angry. A little scared. The knife doesn’t move at all. “I don’t want to…” _Hurt you_ , Prompto’s mind fills in the blank. But that’s not right.

“Yeah you do,” Prompto says. “I mean it, Iggy. I want you to hurt me, too.” Ignis’s eyes flicker closed, just for a moment, and he swallows. Prompto loves that. He’s seen Ignis wrecked before, too wobbly to walk after Noct and Gladio double-teamed him, but that nervous little twitch is a whole different level of intimacy.

“Say that again,” Ignis orders, low and gravelly.

“Yeah, okay. I want you to hurt me,” Prompto repeats. He twists against the straps holding him; he wants to hug Ignis really bad right now. Ignis’s breath catches as he moves. “It’s okay. I’ll be okay. I trust you with my life. I trust you with _Noct’s_ life.”

“You must be serious. I know you wouldn’t take Noct’s name in vain.” The knife pulls away from his throat and traces down lower, to his chest, around a nipple. Prompto tries not to arch his back, push into the blade like he wants to. He doesn’t want to _scare_ Ignis. He just wants him to never stop doing this.

“Nope, definitely not.” His voice catches in his throat when Ignis presses the blade slightly harder into his skin.

Ignis _could_ hurt him, seriously, could kill him like this as easily as blinking. He knows it and Prompto knows it too. But Prompto meant what he said, and as Ignis trails the knife down Prompto’s ribs and across his stomach, Prompto twists towards it.

“ _Prompto_ ,” Ignis says in warning. He pulls the knife away. “I do want to hurt you,” he says, quietly. But the knife stays at his shoulder, far away from Prompto’s skin, and his other hand sits gently around Prompto’s waist. “I don’t intend to harm you. Which I run the risk of doing, if you don’t hold still and let me work.”

Prompto knows an honest rebuke when he hears one. He shifts back and forth uncomfortably and then settles with his face turned to the side, away from Ignis. “Sorry,” he says. “I just want…”

“I know what you want.” Ignis brings the knife down again, lets it settle just below Prompto’s ribcage. “Have patience.”

Prompto nods. “Okay. Yeah, okay, I’ll try.” He takes a deep breath and forcibly relaxes himself. “I know you’ll take care of me.”

He’s surprised when Ignis laughs at that. Quiet, cut off quickly, but definitely a laugh. “Yes,” he says. “I will.”

The pressure of the blade is firmer this time, not _quite_ enough to cut but closer. Prompto concentrates on staying still. He works his hands in their bonds behind him to try and let out some of the need to _move_.

Ignis is _definitely_ a fucking sadist, because he goes over Prompto’s whole body like that, up his chest and down his shoulders, across his neck (and then again when Prompto moans as the blade crosses his jugular), up and down over his stomach. Eventually, he runs out of places to work over, and he climbs off of Prompto, sitting beside him instead. He grips Prompto’s ankle as he glides the knife over the outside of Prompto’s leg down to the knee. It’s almost ticklish and Prompto twitches, but Ignis shifts quickly to sit on top of Prompto’s shins, holding him down while he gives the same treatment to Prompto’s other leg.

The knife skates up Prompto’s inner thighs, a few gentle sweeps, lingering where it makes Prompto sigh. Eventually Prompto has to look. He lifts his head up as much as he can, watches Ignis’s face and the edge of his blade. He’s covered in delicate, pink lines, not a drop of blood on him, just the marks of Ignis’s careful control. Ignis makes eye contact with him, and smiles; he runs the blade gently up the underside of Prompto’s cock. The metal is cold against overheated skin and Prompto drops his head back and moans.

“That,” Ignis says slowly, “is a beautiful sound.”

Prompto just whimpers while Ignis lets the blade press into the soft skin of his lower abs. Ignis hums his approval and works his way back up Prompto’s body, covering him in more thin, careful lines, until his knife rests again at Prompto’s throat.

He leans down and kisses Prompto’s forehead, ignoring or maybe just enjoying how Prompto strains towards him, as much as he can without letting the knife dig into his skin. Prompto licks his lips when Ignis moves away, begging wordlessly, and is rewarded with a deep, searching kiss. Ignis’s tongue dives into his mouth, swallows up his moans, and Ignis drops his weight onto Prompto and rolls his hips, a long, slow movement that makes Prompto’s whole body cry out for more.

He can’t move, though, can barely even open his mouth to speak with Ignis’s blade at his throat.

Prompto knows this is just for him. Ignis would never get this close to threatening Noct, not even if Noct begged him for it. He can only do this to Prompto. This Ignis, the one with gloves on and hair up and knife out, the one with his breath coming ragged the more Prompto writhes underneath him, this is _all his_. He feels guilty about it, but it doesn’t outweigh the thrill.

Ignis looks like he might ask something, when he pulls away, has his mouth open to form words. But he doesn’t. Instead he licks his already-shining lips, and sits back, and finally lets the dagger bite through Prompto’s skin. Prompto gasps a breath and holds it.

The cut trails, slowly, from Prompto’s collarbone to the center of his chest, and Prompto feels it as a line of ice followed by fire, and a trickle of warm blood. He doesn’t make a sound until the knife pulls away; then he lets out all the air in him with a sigh as the pain rushes in.

“You’re alright?” Ignis prompts. “How do you feel?”

Prompto keeps his eyes closed and his head laid back. “ _Fuck_ , Ignis. I think I’ve been waiting my whole life for you to do that.”

He hears a small huff of laughter at that, and if it were anybody else, Prompto would say his partner was trying to hold back hysteria. “I’d better not keep you waiting for the next one, then.”

Prompto shakes his head, and he’s still shaking his head when the knife bites into his flesh again. This time it’s sudden and sharp enough that he feels it instantly, and he moans and sucks in air when the blade leaves him.

“Absolutely beautiful,” Ignis repeats, and his voice hitches slightly.

As always, Ignis is methodical. But while the light tracing of metal over his skin served only to heighten Prompto’s desperate _want_ , now each slice of the blade feels like a release. Ignis is more careful about where he places each shallow cut, and spends more time watching as Prompto sighs and curses and whimpers through the pain.

He gives several quick flicks of the knife around Prompto’s ribs, making him gasp and shudder and arch his back, and then Ignis pauses in his work to catch Prompto’s eye in an unspoken question. Prompto shakes his head.

“’S okay. Still good,” he slurs. “You’ve got me.”

“Yes, I do,” Ignis replies. He stops for a moment, petting Prompto’s leg, and then he pushes Prompto’s knee down to the bed. Prompto feels the knife slide down his inner thigh. He tosses his head side to side, rolls his shoulders as much as he can, tries everything he can think of not to fight back on instinct. He wants and doesn’t want it to stop; he needs more but he can’t take it.

Ignis lays his free hand flat on Prompto’s stomach, waiting while he gets a hold on himself, before he begins again. He doesn’t demand that Prompto hold still now, because Prompto can’t. Instead he leans his whole weight on Prompto where he wants him steady. Prompto would never want to escape what Ignis is doing, but when Ignis stops him from even trying, his hand as immovable as iron on Prompto’s thigh as he cuts a line right at the bend of Prompto’s leg, Prompto feels a rush of gratitude.

Now he lets himself shudder and writhe, knowing Ignis won’t let him fail. By the time Ignis arrives at his feet, he has to hold his ankle tight in order to finish the pattern he’s created. Prompto yells when the knife sinks into the arch of his foot, but he doesn’t jerk so hard that he pulls out of Ignis’s grip. He’s proud of himself for that.

Ignis releases him, then, and looks him up and down, while Prompto tenses and relaxes his muscles and shudders again every time one of the cuts pulls open a little. He lets out a little, pleased sigh, like he’s satisfied, and then sits back. He’s not touching Prompto anymore and Prompto instantly leans towards him. He’d roll into Ignis’s side, if he were allowed, but instead Ignis puts his hand on Prompto’s shoulder and makes him stay on his back. He scoots a little closer and pull Prompto’s head into his lap, petting his face and hair and shoulders.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, and, “It’s hard to believe you’re real,” and, “Astrals, I’ve made a mess of you.” At that last, he holds Prompto’s chin and pulls his head back, so that Prompto is looking up at him instead of down at the cuts and blood all over his body.

“It was amazing,” Prompto says, pushing his face into Ignis’s hand. “Good mess, I promise.”

Ignis smiles at him upside down. “I’m very, very glad to hear it,” he says softly. “May I take one more thing from you?” His eyes flick down Prompto’s body and linger on his still hard cock, making it very obvious what he wants.

“Yeah, _fuck_ , Iggy…” Prompto’s never been eloquent the way Ignis is, but Ignis doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. His pleased smile is a sight to behold.

He props Prompto up on the pillows, so Prompto can see down his own body. It’s not as bad as it looked from the more extreme angle. Yeah, he’s bleeding in more places than he can count, but it’s not a lot of blood and most of it is stopping already. Ignis was careful. Well, of course he was.

And as he spreads his legs for Ignis, Prompto knows that Ignis was _extra_ careful: he’s left Prompto with cuts parallel to every joint, so that every movement he makes brings another thrill of pain. Prompto stretches his legs out straight just to feel the barely formed scabs pull apart, sighing as the bleeding starts again, and Ignis watches him with his mouth slightly open.

Prompto thought Ignis had put his knife away, but it’s there in his hand again as Ignis settles between Prompto’s legs. He holds the blade at Prompto’s throat, his own finger between the cutting edge and Prompto’s skin, close enough to danger that Prompto feels his heart speed up again. He leans forward and kisses down Prompto’s body, and his hand stays right where it is even while he laves his tongue over Prompto’s nipple to catch the blood that’s dripped down his chest.

He comes up with his mouth bloody somewhere around Prompto’s stomach, and if Prompto wasn’t already feeling light headed, that would have done it. His cock aches with the need to feel those lips around it. A quiet moan slips from his mouth and Ignis grins.

He’s just licking his lips, opening his mouth, when there’s a quick knock at the hotel room door. He pauses, and looks up. Prompto just whines, not understanding why he’s stopped, until the door opens and Gladio walks in. Noct is right on his heels, and almost walks into Gladio when he stops cold.

“Shiva’s fucking tits,” Gladio says. He drops all the bags he’s carrying, making Prompto flinch at the sound, and stalks toward the bed. “Have you gone _insane_ , Scientia?”

Ignis sits up and turns towards the others, putting his body between Prompto and Gladio’s glare, Noct’s look of shock. His knife shimmers out of existence and he raises his hands, empty.

“I certainly have not,” he says. “I apologize that you walked in on this.”

And now Prompto feels guilty as hell, because Ignis sounds _crushed_. Prompto remembers that shame, that fear of judgment, and he knows it’s got to be worse for Ignis. Prompto just wants to _be_ hurt, and that probably means he’s fucked in the head but doesn’t mean he’s evil, where Ignis wants to _hurt_. Gladio’s put up with it so far, but he’s got ideas about people who hurt just for the fun of it.

“Don’t apologize, Iggy,” Prompto says. He has to lick his lips and try again to get real sound out of his throat. “Gladio, Noct, it’s okay.”

“You’re bleeding,” Gladio says flatly. “You need a potion.” He folds his arms and looks at Ignis. “Get out of the way.”

“ _No_ ,” Prompto says. He struggles upright and leans forward, hooking his chin over Ignis’s shoulder before he can move too far. The carefully placed cuts on his chest split open when he leans forward and make his breath catch; he’s so not _up_ enough to handle this. And he’s bleeding on Ignis’s clothes, but that at least he can deal with later.

Noct grabs Gladio’s arm with one hand, holding him back. He doesn’t seem to want to _look_ at Prompto, but at least he’s not cursing at them. “It’s fine, Gladio. Right, Prompto? You’re okay?”

“I was _great_ until about two minutes ago,” Prompto says darkly. “We couldn’t get some warning?”

“I did text,” Noct points out. Prompto blinks at his phone, on the dresser, until he sees it flash a quick blue light: message waiting. Noct could’ve texted him anytime in the last hour and he wouldn’t even have noticed.

“Okay, I was distracted,” he admits. Noct rolls his eyes.

“ _Distracted,_ ” Gladio scoffs. “Being an idiot. What if we’d called and needed you?”

Ignis bristles, now that Gladio’s turned his anger on Prompto. “My phone was on hand. I assure you, Gladio, I risked no more than necessary for this.”

“You had a knife to his _throat_ , Iggy.” Gladio’s glare still encompasses both of them. Ignis pats Prompto’s thigh, twice, and disentangles himself to stand up. He wants Gladio’s attention only on him, and Prompto’s happier with that than the alternative, but he still whines when Ignis leaves him.

Noct is the one to step in. He drops Gladio’s arm, apparently deciding it’s better to let him and Ignis sort themselves out, and sits at Prompto’s side. Prompto leans into him.

“I took precautions,” Ignis is saying, quietly but firmly from just a few steps away in the entryway.

“What precautions? That phoenix down?” Ah. Gladio noticed that, then. Figures. “How bad were you gonna hurt him?”

“I would never use magic of that caliber without a good reason, and you know it. But there would be no time to waste with potions if I made a mistake,” Ignis says rapidly. Prompto knows he’s right. And he’s warmed by the thought that Ignis wanted this badly enough, and wanted him safe enough, that he’d have been willing to use up a phoenix down if he had to.

There’s silence, for a minute. Noct pulls Prompto into his lap face-down and starts undoing the buckles on the belts that still hold him. Prompto groans as the blood rushes back into his arms. It takes him some time to slowly move them back in front of him, but not as much time as it takes Gladio to speak again.

”Do I have to worry about you?” Gladio asks. Ignis doesn't say anything in reply.

Prompto stands up. He looks around for his boxers, grabs them, and shoves them on - nudity is not helping him with his attempt to be a real person right now - and stomps over to the other two.

He doesn’t exactly get between Ignis and Gladio’s glare, but only because it’s going on about a foot above his head. His sudden appearance, though, is enough to distract from the tension. He lifts his chin to look Gladio in the eye and reaches back to grab Ignis’s hand.

“Iggy would never do anything to harm me,” he says firmly. “I trust him. Thought you did too,” he adds, a challenge.

Gladio looks Prompto up and down, helplessly, and his hands open like he might try to grab him. “You still need healing,” he says. “This isn’t safe.”

“Nothing we do is safe,” Prompto says. Ignis’s hand closes on his shoulder, and Prompto steps back into him, just a little, to press against his chest. “He knows what he’s doing. So do I. I trust him with a knife a lot more than I trust you throwing me around in the sparring ring.”

“That’s different,” Gladio argues. “That’s necessary.”

“So’s this,” Noct says. Prompto didn’t even notice him coming over, but now he’s standing at Ignis’s shoulder, and he’s reaching out for Gladio’s hand. “If we’d been twenty minutes longer they’d just have been relaxed. You know they needed something.”

Gladio looks troubled, like he might say more, but Noct grabs his hand and laces their fingers together, and he doesn’t speak. He just looks at Prompto, looks at Ignis, and shakes his head.

“I apologize for all of the fuss,” Ignis says. He’s quiet and formal, and Prompto half-turns to face him, stricken. “Noctis, there is a hi-potion in the bedside table as well. I purchased a few curatives for my own activities, in case of a situation like this. Please take care of Prompto’s injuries.”

“You got it, Specs,” Noct says quietly. “C’mon, Prom, let’s go get you cleaned up.” He wraps his arm around Prompto’s waist, and guides him gently away from Ignis.

Prompto doesn’t want to go. Even while Noct is lying him back down on the bed, fishing for the small glass bottle in the bedside table, he’s looking at Ignis’s slumped shoulders and bowed head. He and Gladio aren’t talking anymore. Gladio has his arms folded, and he just looks… disappointed.

He drinks the potion when Noct hands it to him, and the glass of water that follows, and then he announces to the room at large that he’s taking a shower. Ignis looks up, but any move he might make to follow is aborted.

Prompto takes longer than he should in the shower, using up most of the hot water. He doesn’t really care. It gets all the blood off him, anyway. The potion left nothing behind, not even the shine of scar tissue; Ignis was perfectly controlled the entire time.


	2. Chapter 2

Ignis wishes they could all simply forget it happened. Contrary to Noct’s vehemently expressed opinion, he doesn’t _need_ to put anyone in life threatening danger in order to get off, and Prompto is happy being held down and given direction - there’s no need for anything riskier than that. Ignis should have known better in the first place.

Prompto tried to talk to him about it. The conversation went awkwardly: _Hey, that thing where you threatened me with the weapons you use to kill your enemies, I really liked that._

_I’d rather not talk about that thing._

_It was a good thing._

_I could have killed you._

Prompto still has no effective rejoinder for that. Ignis shuts down any argument that starts with ‘Yeah but -’. It’s not worth it. All of them are in enough constant danger anyway.

He and Gladio have reached an uneasy kind of truce, but Prompto and Noctis won’t accept it. Ignis supposes that’s reasonable. He didn’t handle the situation well, giving Prompto over to Noctis like that. He should have taken responsibility for bringing Prompto up after the scene, and it’s only fair that Prompto is now so hesitant to touch him.

Prompto hasn’t left Noctis's side much in the last few days, truth be told. He still does what’s needed around the campsite, still takes the occasional selfie or panorama while they’re on the road, but his usual sunshine personality has clouded over. His jokes are for Noctis alone, and he cuts off his stream of chatter whenever he catches himself being too friendly with Gladio or Ignis. Ignis wants to kick himself every time he puts that lost, resigned look on Prompto’s face.

Gladio thinks he’ll get over it soon. Ignis thinks that forgiveness will be harder to come by than that.

 

* * *

 

“Hey, Ignis,” Prompto calls, from where he and Noct are sitting by the fire.

The use of his full name is enough to surprise him. He looks up from his notebook - he wasn’t doing any calculations he hadn’t done before, anyway - and sets his pen down. “Yes, Prompto?”

“Come into the tent with me?” he asks. Nervous, hopeful. Despite his concern over being alone with him, Ignis can’t really refuse Prompto anything.

Prompto zips the tent up behind them, and then stands in front of him, bent over slightly, nervously playing with a strand of hair at the back of his head. Ignis wants to take his hand and stop him, but he’s been careful not to do anything that might be construed as ‘dominant’ for the last few days. He simply doesn’t feel ready to bring that dynamic back up between them.

“What’s the matter?” Ignis asks, eventually.

Prompto is looking at the ground when he replies. “Noct and I think we should try the knife thing again,” he says in a rush.

Ignis feels his stomach drop. Of course they do. “Prompto, we’ve been over this -”

“No, no, listen,” Prompto cuts him off. He finally looks up at him, big blue eyes filled with worry.“We want to prove it’s safe, right? So we’re gonna have Gladio and Noct both there.”

“…And is Noctis telling Gladio about this right now?”

Prompto nods. “Please don’t be mad.”

Ignis sighs, bumps his head on the top of the tent, and sits down cross-legged on the nearest sleeping bag. “I’m not,” he says. It’s true; he’s upset, but he’s not angry. “You’re both adults. I don’t actually control your behavior,” he adds, “and I shouldn’t.”

“That’s not really what I meant, Iggy,” Prompto says. He sits down too, close enough that he’s almost, but not quite, bumping knees with Ignis. “I just think… we all got the bad ending on that one. Noct agrees.”

“This isn’t a video game you can redo from the last checkpoint,” Ignis says, more sharply than he intends. “I have no desire to put you in any danger again.”

Prompto flinches at the tone, but he still says, “You never did.” He holds out his hand, over their crossed legs. “You never did and you never would. I know _that_ much.”

“Threatening you like that was selfish, and _stupid_ of me,” Ignis says. “I can’t justify it. Not for a momentary thrill.”

“Don’t talk about it like that,” Prompto says. He looks at his hand, still open between them, and he sounds sad.

“What do you mean?” Ignis says, trying to keep his tone soft. It’s more difficult than it ought to be.

“Like it doesn’t mean anything. Iggy, I don’t know… I don’t know about you, I guess, but it’s important to me that I can trust you like that. I mean, I know I can. I told you, I’d trust you with our lives.”

Ignis remembers very well that Prompto didn’t think swearing on his _own_ life was enough of a reassurance. “That’s all the more reason to keep my weapons away from you,” he says.

“I’m not done,” Prompto says, and Ignis waits. It takes him several moments to continue, moments in which Ignis has time to imagine several scenarios, each worse than the last. Prompto breaking up with him, specifically, which would only cause more friction within their little band. Prompto breaking up with all of them, and leaving them behind at the next city. Prompto finding someone else, someone less skilled with a blade, to act out these fantasies.

Prompto hasn’t moved, and so Ignis takes his hand, carefully, gently. Prompto makes a small noise of surprise and grips him like he’s a life-line.

“I need to be hurt, sometimes,” Prompto says, so quietly Ignis almost doesn’t hear him. “I need to - to prove it, I guess. That I can trust someone that much? But it’s also kinda like… if I can’t give you that, or you won’t take it, what good am I?”

Prompto, Ignis realizes, is crying. He’s good at hiding it; only the faintest tremor in his voice betrays him. If Ignis's eyes were less sharp, he’d have missed the faint shimmer of tears trailing down his cheek.

“I promise this is no reflection on you,” Ignis says. He’s lost for words after that, so instead he quickly strips the glove off his free hand with his teeth, and puts his bare palm against Prompto’s cheek. Prompto looks up at him with an intake of breath.

“It’s what you can handle. I know,” Prompto says. Ignis wipes a fresh track of tears off his cheekbone, making Prompto lean into his hand, the perfect picture of willing affection. Ignis himself said it, back before he’d suspected that he and Prompto were so well matched: Prompto is made for this.

“You need it too, right?” Prompto says quietly. “Noct _likes_ it, and Gladio just wants me to feel good. But you’re like me.”

It would only hurt Prompto to deny it. “Yes. I am,” Ignis admits. “I don’t often indulge myself, or at least, I rarely did before I found that you were, ah, receptive.”

“Submissive is the word, I’m pretty sure.” Prompto’s eyes are still red, but he smiles a little at Ignis's surprised look. “Oh yeah. I did the reading. Lots of long hours in the car filled up with other people’s relationship problem forum posts.”

“And what did those say?” Ignis asks, despite himself. He’s done enough reading himself to be able to put words like ‘dominant’ and ‘negotiation’ and ‘scene’ around what it is that he wants and does, but it’s all been very academic. What Prompto is describing does not sound like that.

“Mostly that this happens?” Prompto says. “Both of us are going to have to work on it. And I guess, if it doesn’t work out, we’ll both have to be okay without it, because I don’t want to lose… any of you.”

“It would be hard for you,” Ignis says. “It’s harder to go without once you’ve had a taste of it.”

Prompto nods, his expression tight. “I’d live. But I don’t wanna give up on it without at least _trying_.”

“And if I can’t go through with it? Or if Gladiolus stops me in a fit of protective rage?”

“Then at least we can say we tried?” Prompto says, shrugging. "C'mon, please?"

And, of course, Ignis can’t _really_ refuse Prompto anything.

Prompto leaves him in the tent while he retrieves the others. Ignis waits, alone with his doubts, for longer than he thinks is necessary. He hears Gladio’s voice raised, just once, and quickly shut down; otherwise he has no idea what’s happening out there.

For his own part, he takes his shoes and other glove off, and leaves them neatly at the entrance to the tent. Then he flicks through the assortment of blades he has at his disposal. He doesn’t want to use the same knife as last time, nor the ones that he most often pulls out on the field; he settles on a small utility knife, sharp enough to cut but not without significant pressure. As soon as he’s made the decision, he puts it off to the side of his sleeping bag. If they have all misjudged the situation, he would rather face Gladio empty handed.

The tent door unzips and Prompto steps back in, a somewhat forced smile on his face, that becomes more real when he sees that Ignis has prepared himself. Ignis smiles back, just a little.

Gladio and Noctis follow, and the prince zips the tent up behind him. He steps over the sleeping bags, heedless of the dirt his boots are grinding into them, and bends down to kiss Ignis roughly. Ignis is too surprised to react before Noct pulls away again.

“Thanks, Iggy,” he says. “For trying.”

“I could hardly refuse the two of you,” Ignis says automatically. Behind Noct, Gladio snorts.

“This is still dangerously stupid, and I know that doesn’t sit right with you,” he says. “But you might as well admit you want to do it.”

Ignis sees Prompto flush, even in the dim light of their lantern, and shoots Gladio a quick glare; but Noctis steps in before Ignis can reply.

“Thought we agreed no judgement,” the prince says, his tone falsely light. “Save the bitching for when you see something you need to worry about.”

“I’ll be the judge of what that is,” Gladio says. Noct rolls his eyes and sits down to take his own boots off, getting comfortable at the foot of his sleeping bag. Gladio drops down next to him at its head.

It leaves Ignis and Prompto with a cramped little stage, the other three bags spread out over the rest of the tent for their use. Ignis firmly puts their audience out of his mind as he holds his hands up to Prompto.

Prompto takes both his hands and kneels in front of him. Ignis's heart is in his throat as he pulls Prompto forward, making him bend so that his head is in Ignis's lap. He folds over Prompto’s body protectively and speaks quietly in his ear. “Make sure you tell me if you need to stop,” he says. “We don’t have to prove anything, certainly not if it harms you.”

“Yeah. I know,” Prompto says. “I’ll tell you.”

“I trust you to do so,” Ignis says. He sits up, and cups Prompto’s chin to pull him up too. Prompto follows as easily and sweetly as ever. Ignis kisses him, softly, and is rewarded with Prompto’s gentle sigh. It distracts him momentarily, but he can’t let the other two out of his mind for long.

He’s had an audience before, certainly; the four of them have been together in all combinations, and Noctis's dark gaze is familiar enough. It’s Gladio who’s giving him pause. His expression is dark with suspicion, not lust, his amber eyes cold. Ignis does his best to ignore it. Gladio is here, and Prompto is still hopeful, and he is going to do his best not to cause anyone any more grief today.

“Noctis,” he says, looking Prompto over. “Have you a phoenix down and a few curatives on you?”

“Yeah. Figured you wouldn’t go any farther without ‘em,” Noctis says. “Just say the word and I’ll hit him with a hi-potion.”

“Thank you.”

“I can make up the cost, if we have to use them,” Prompto says. “Take a couple of hunts.”

“You will not,” Ignis tells him firmly. It’s the first time since… the previous incident that Ignis has used that tone on him, and Prompto flushes, instantly, looking at Ignis with wide eyes. “If we need one, it will be my mistake that caused it,” Ignis says, a little more softly. “You are not to worry about it at all.”

Prompto nods. Ignis runs his hand through the blond spikes of his hair, ruffling it beyond recognition. “Get undressed,” he says.

Prompto’s pulling his shirt off before Ignis finishes the words, unbuckling his belt, shoving his jeans off his legs where they get stuck on his boots at the ankles. Ignis smiles to see him so eager, and begins to unbutton his cuffs to roll his sleeves back. Gladio nearly growls.

Ignis supposes he can’t blame the Shield. He _has_ been known to roll his sleeves up before performing a particularly bloody killing. He looks at Gladio sideways as he unbuttons his shirt, deliberately strips it off, and in a little burst of pettiness, throws it at his face.

Gladio huffs his irritation. “This was supposed to be a demonstration, not a striptease,” he grumbles, but Ignis ignores him. Prompto has fought his way out of his clothing, and kneels again on the floor, his hands curled into loose fists on his slightly parted knees. Ignis looks him over, assessing his mental and physical state, with the pretty side effect of making his blush grow deeper. Prompto isn’t hard just yet, but that will change. Right now, perhaps, there are too many expectations on him.

Ignis rises up on his knees and lays Prompto on his back, comfortably nestled among the sleeping bags and pillows. It’s not as good as the hotel, nor did he have as much time to prepare, but he thinks this will do. Prompto will mind the discomfort less than Ignis will mind that he’s uncomfortable.

“You remember how this goes,” Ignis says, as he leans over Prompto’s prone form. He really is beautiful like this, all spread out under Ignis, unsure whether he should be coy or wanton. Ignis kisses him gently before he continues. “You tell me if you need to slow down or stop. Try to hold still, and let me know if you can’t.”

“I remember,” Prompto says. “No belts to help out this time?” 

“Would you rather I tied you up?” Ignis asks.

Prompto bites his lower lip, and looks away from Ignis, and nods. And Ignis is certainly not one to refuse an invitation like that.

“Gladiolus, your belt, please,” he says. In the meantime, he pulls Prompto’s belt out of the loops of his discarded trousers. Last time, he’d pulled two of his own belts out of his bags, but this time he’s been denied that level of planning. And perhaps it’s a little more pettiness, as well, asking Gladio to involve himself.

Ignis fastens Prompto’s belt around the gunner’s wrists, securely fastening them together, careful that his leather wristband doesn’t get caught under the fabric. He wishes he had something to tie him _to_ , but he can work around it. Gladio’s, when he gives it up, is long enough that Ignis can wrap it around Prompto’s ankles and leave a tail. He turns Prompto gently on his side, draws his hands over his head, and fastens the buckle of one belt to the tail of the other; arms and legs folded like that, he won’t have much range of motion. It’s not as comfortable, again, as Ignis would like it to be, but Prompto only sighs when Ignis turns him prone again. 

“Is that better?” he asks. Prompto nods, smiling shyly. Ignis has to kiss that smile, and as he does he runs his hands down Prompto’s sides, making Prompto giggle and try to pull away. Ignis lets him struggle for a few moments. He knows both of them need to be sure that he’s secure.

When Prompto stills again, Ignis sits back, and picks up his knife. He doesn’t come straight for Prompto with it; instead he makes eye contact with Gladio, holds the blade up in his hand so the Shield can see what he’s chosen. Gladio folds his arms over his chest. Apparently he isn’t impressed yet. No matter. 

Ignis crawls back over to Prompto, knife in his right hand, sitting on Prompto’s right as well to give their audience a good view, of both the blade and Prompto’s body. “I’ll give you a moment to get used to it,” Ignis says, more for Gladio’s benefit than for Prompto’s.

Prompto is tense, as Ignis holds the blade up for his inspection, letting him anticipate what’s coming. The anticipation, Ignis knows, is where half the psychological impact lies. At any point Prompto could come to his senses and call this off; instead he stays still, eyes fixed on Ignis. Ignis doubts he realizes that his mouth is open, that he’s almost whining already. When Ignis caresses Prompto’s throat with his free hand, he finds that Prompto’s heart is beating fit to burst clear out of him.

“Shh,” he soothes, “I’ve got you.”

“Yeah,” Prompto says, dreamily. “Yeah, I know.”

Ignis trails his fingertips from Prompto’s elbow to his chest, slowly. He does enjoy wearing his gloves while he does this; enjoys the way Prompto fixates on his hands, the impact of the black leather on Prompto’s pale skin. But this, too, is good. He can feel the goosebumps rising on Prompto’s arms, the little twitches of his muscles as he tries not to move, the peak of his nipple as Ignis teases it into full hardness. 

“Iggy, _please_ ,” Prompto pants. He might be putting on a little bit of a show, just as Ignis is, but the plea is still real. Ignis shushes him and lays the blade of the knife against his throat. 

Gladio does growl this time, a low, rumbling, threatening sound. Ignis has heard him sound like that before throwing sparring partners to the ground. But he’s also heard it right before Gladio gave him the hardest fucking of his life; he doesn’t think it _has_ to be negative. 

Ignis knows knives very well, from cooking, from fighting, and yes, from this, and it takes less of his focus than one might suppose to drag the point of the knife at exactly the right angle to raise red lines as the knife skates over Prompto’s skin. 

He pays attention, instead, to the pace of Prompto’s heartbeat, to the little whines that tell him Prompto is letting go, to the way he’s fighting the urge to twist into the cutting edge; and to Gladio, and Noctis, speaking quietly. 

The tent isn’t large. They’re near enough that if they wanted to, they would only have to lean forward, to touch, to distract. Gladio could stop this easily, but Noctis holds him back. When Ignis pauses, the knife held over the softest part of Prompto’s stomach without touching, he hears the prince say, “Look at Prom’s _face_.”

Prompto has his mouth open, his eyes cast down as he watches the blade hover over his skin. His color is high and, as Ignis touches metal to skin again, his throat works and he closes his eyes.

Ignis shuffles up Prompto’s body again, kneeling over him this time, and letting his thigh come between Prompto’s legs. The moment he makes contact, Prompto rolls his hips. Ignis can feel his cock coming up to full hardness as he moves; still, though he moans quietly, he doesn’t move his upper body, where Ignis has the flat of the knife pressed against his shoulder.

“Good,” Ignis murmurs, “very good.” 

Prompto laughs, breathy and soft. “You really think so?” he asks. Ignis is impressed that he has sense left to be playful, even as he strains to rub himself off against Ignis's thigh.

 “I do,” he says, smiling. “I think I have a treat for such a good boy.” 

The line is corny and it makes Prompto laugh again, his eyes shining. He presses his smile into Ignis's palm when Ignis strokes the side of his face.

Ignis taps on Prompto’s lower lip with his thumb, and Prompto obediently opens his mouth, his tongue lying flat over his teeth in preparation for fingers or something more. Ignis runs the tip of the knife up the delicate column of Prompto’s throat. He can see the exact moment Prompto realizes what he’s aiming at; Prompto’s eyes widen, and he steels himself, so that he barely twitches when the blade of the knife comes to rest on his tongue.

“Fuck,” Gladio breathes. Noctis's soft, impressed laugh follows. Ignis ignores them, intent on keeping the pressure exactly right, enough not to tickle and make Prompto laugh, but not enough to cut.

Prompto whimpers as Ignis glides the knife farther in, carefully, slowly. He knows it must feel like more to Prompto than it is; he allows no more than half the blade, two inches at most, to enter Prompto’s mouth. But Prompto keens like he can’t help himself, his tongue curling around the metal, his mouth opening further as he arches his head back.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs. Prompto moans in reply.

There is a soft rustling noise from Ignis's right, but he doesn’t pay attention to that, won’t so much as think about it until he’s drawn the knife out of Prompto’s mouth, back to safer territory on the gunner’s shoulder. Prompto licks his lips with his eyes locked on Ignis, and Ignis covers Prompto’s body with his own and lets his tongue follow his blade’s path. 

Now he definitely hears something, the hiss of a zipper coming undone, the slight creak of leather. He lifts off Prompto, only an inch, and looks over at their audience. Noctis looks back at him, wholly shameless with his hand wrapped around Gladio’s cock.

Gladio is a different story. The Shield leans back on his hands, mouth open, shocked and staring over Noct’s head. When he catches Ignis's eye, he tries to school his expression back to neutral, but Noctis leans into his lap and his head sinks down, drawing a quiet hiss out of Gladio.

“Look at that, now they’re putting on a show for us,” Ignis says, close and quiet, almost into Prompto’s mouth. He kisses him again before he lets him move, and even then, he holds his waist and his shoulder. He cannot afford to give up any control over his movements. 

Prompto licks his lips, turns his head, and grins at what he sees. Gladio bites down on a moan and closes his eyes, his hand going to Noctis's hair - Ignis can imagine what the prince is putting him through - but when Noct slows the bobbing of his head, Gladio’s gaze returns to Prompto, and Ignis, and the knife.

Ignis doesn’t know what to make of it. Is it that protective fear, still? He’d thought that he and Gladio were close enough, had worked together long enough, that Gladio would trust him in activities that could be dangerous. Gladio knows well enough about Ignis's proclivities; he’s even allowed him to engage, once or twice, though never to the level that Prompto demands. Every interaction Ignis has had with him on the subject has led him to believe that Gladio is not interested but not judgmental.

Except this. First, his anger at the very idea; now, his obvious arousal and fascination, helped along as it is by Noctis. Ignis buries his fingers in Prompto’s hair, and the blonde nuzzles against his hand. There is just enough light in the tent for Ignis to see Gladio’s throat work as he swallows. 

Now is the moment of truth, Ignis supposes. He can’t leave either of them like this; Prompto is straining against the belts, doing his best to reach for Ignis. The longer Ignis waits, the more he struggles. The friction is exquisite and Ignis feels his own body responding. He thrusts down in opposition to Prompto’s movements. Prompto drags in a shuddery breath in response. Ignis does _not_ lose control of himself, but he wants to; wants to make Prompto’s exhale turn into a cry, to grind down against him until he’s begging for release, to dig the knife into his flesh and make him _scream_. 

But he does not, because Prompto trusts him, and they both want Gladio to trust him, and Ignis wants to trust himself. He rolls his hips three times, no more, slow and careful and making sure Prompto can feel his arousal, and he sits back. He’s sweating and breathing hard, but his hands are steady as he lays the knife on Prompto’s skin again. 

“Ready?” Ignis asks, loud enough this time that Gladio can hear him. Prompto nods, beaming like the sun.

Ignis lets the knife bite into the freckled skin of Prompto’s right shoulder, careful at first, slow. Prompto holds his breath when it touches him. That breath turns into a burst out moan as his skin parts, blood welling up slowly and trickling down his arm. 

“ _Fuck_ yes,” Prompto hisses, surprising Ignis into pulling the knife away. Prompto whines and stretches towards him as far as he can. Ignis doesn’t miss that he’s turned his head to his left, watching Gladio watch him.

“Don’t stop,” he breathes. Ignis isn’t sure if he’s asking him or Gladio; he hears, as if from a long distance, Gladio’s cut-off groan. Then Prompto outright begs, “Ignis, please stop teasing, c’mon, _please_.”

“Whatever you want,” Ignis tells him. His own voice is rough, breathy. Prompto is perfection, like this, and more so as Ignis's blade scores deep red lines across his chest. There is the rustling of fabric and a low, whispered argument happening next to them; Ignis is, for once, heedless of his surroundings. He can think only of Prompto, shaking and helpless underneath him. 

Prompto keeps repeating, over and over between cries of pain, “Yes, fuck, yes,” and “please, Ignis.” Ignis fights to keep his hand steady as he traces the edge of the blade down the soft curves of Prompto’s waist, making a pattern of cuts from his ribs to his hips. His neat lines skip just once, when Gladio growls “ _fuck_ ” again and Prompto gasps and thrusts up into the air.

Ignis drops the knife to the side and drives the palm of his hand down on Prompto’s hip, shoving him none too gently to the floor. “Stay _still_ ,” he says, putting as much command as he can in his tone.

The desperate noise Prompto makes is delicious. He twists against Ignis's grip so sharply that he nearly flips himself, but he sobs out an apology, and he settles on his back again. Ignis grabs his hips with both hands now, yanks him into his own lap, his bound ankles digging into Ignis's knees. 

“Why did you move?” he asks. Not harshly; he wants to know the answer.

Prompto gasps, “sorry!” again, and Ignis reaches out and pulls him up to sitting. The ties on him make it difficult and Ignis has to help him hold himself up, but he has no problem with that, and he’s sure Prompto doesn’t, either. He soothes Prompto with small kisses and reassuring noises until his face relaxes and he looks like he might be able to talk again. Then he holds the back of Prompto’s head, gently, and waits. 

Prompto’s face is flushed bright pink again as he replies. “I, I just - I was watching them,” he stammers.

“Were you now,” Ignis murmurs. He tightens his grip on Prompto’s hair and turns to look at their audience again.

He understands Prompto’s reaction now. Noctis is naked, and sitting in Gladio’s lap. Gladio’s hands hold him tightly around his waist, and Gladio leans forward over him, but it’s obvious Noct is setting the pace; he has his hands over his Shield’s, his eyes closed in concentration as he rolls his hips back and forth. Gladio ducks his head to the prince’s shoulder when Ignis catches his eye. 

“You’re not going to watch, Gladio?” Ignis asks. “This was for your benefit, I believe.”

“Yeah,” Noct says, his own head still bent forward. “Eyes on them.”

Prompto tugs his head against Ignis's grip, trying to look again, even as Gladio lifts his head to stare. The Shield looks… frightened, Ignis would say, if it weren’t Gladio he were saying it about.

“Relax,” he says, and though it’s for Prompto’s benefit, he makes sure Gladio hears him, too. “I’ll help you. I’m going to lay you down again.”

Prompto nods as much as he’s able, and Ignis deposits him gently on the ground. It’s the work of a moment to find Prompto’s black bandanna amongst his clothing on the floor. Again, his materials are not ideal, but Prompto needs a reminder more than a true blindfold. Ignis ties the fabric over his eyes and Prompto sighs and stills. 

Now Ignis turns to the other pair, keeping one hand on Prompto’s stomach. “Tell me, Gladiolus,” he says, and watches Gladio’s teeth clench as Noctis sinks down into his lap again. “Do you think Prompto has had enough?”

Prompto opens his mouth to speak, but Ignis puts a finger over his lips, gently. Noctis reaches up and grabs the back of his Shield’s neck, pulling him closer. Prompto shifts under Ignis's hands, obviously fighting to keep quiet. And Ignis… waits. He can be patient for this. He wants to hear Gladio’s answer, first; he’ll give Prompto what he needs, after. Whether he faces judgment for it or not.

“No,” Gladio rumbles, finally. His face is pressed into Noct’s hair, but he still looks through the messy strands at Ignis; Gladio has never been a coward. “He’s not done.”

“Shall I give him more?” Ignis presses. He may be pushing his luck. Prompto whines against his shushing finger, and Ignis knows very well that the blonde’s self-control goes only so far. And he’s not sure how far Gladio is willing to go with this. He doesn’t want to hit another limit to the Shield’s tolerance.

But Gladio says, “Yeah. Let him have it, Iggy.” 

Prompto sighs in relief. Ignis nods his acknowledgement, trying not to let on how hard his heart is pounding. Before he can pick up his knife again, Noctis catches his eye, and grins. The muscles in his legs flex and his movement makes Gladio groan. Prompto, in response, arches his back and bites down on his lip.

Ignis bends over him, kisses him, licks his mouth open. He doesn’t want Prompto causing himself any pain. Selfishly, he wants to be the only one given that privilege. Prompto opens up to him easily, his eagerness obvious in every straining muscle. Prompto has been so good, so patient with him, and Ignis intends to give him everything he needs.

“Highness, you have lubricant?” he asks. Noctis nods and leans over to grab it, Gladio clutching at his hips. Ignis takes a moment to divest himself of what’s left of his clothing. Prompto makes a confused noise, when Ignis leaves his side, but he’s soon calm again as Ignis straddles his waist.

The bottle of lubricant lands at Prompto’s side, and Ignis picks it up, pouring a generous amount into his palm. He doesn’t want to waste time with this, and he knows it won’t be comfortable, but it will be good. So he wraps his hand around Prompto’s erection - Prompto shaking at his touch - and slicks him up with a few long, slow strokes.

Prompto breathes his name and then grits his teeth. Ignis can guess he’s not far from orgasm, as long as he’s been kept aroused - and he suspects Prompto hasn’t come at all since their last encounter. With that in mind, he lets himself slowly, carefully, down, pausing every time Prompto attempts to thrust into him, letting both of them adjust. The stretch as he sinks down burns, painful far past the point of pleasure, and he’s glad Prompto can’t see his face twist. He stops before Prompto is fully inside him and leans down to pick up his blade again.

He lifts the knife up, showing Gladio that he’s holding it with the spine down, before he presses it against Prompto’s throat. Prompto cries out loud and sharp, nearly a scream, and goes limp. Ignis imagines it’s a last ditch attempt not to move. Without benefit of sight, the cold metal must still feel sharp to him. Ignis holds it there and holds his breath as he forces himself to fully sit on Prompto’s cock.

He puts his free hand on Prompto’s chest, braces himself and keeps Prompto still as he works his hips, all his movements slow, gentle. He expects that Prompto won’t last long. He’s surprised when it’s not Prompto’s high-pitched, breathy moan that he hears first, but Gladio’s deep growl, followed by Noctis cursing up a storm.

Prompto’s thighs twitch and Ignis leans forward, putting more weight on his chest to keep him steady as he looks over at their audience. “Your prince and his Shield both just came, watching you,” he says. Digs the spine of the knife a little more into Prompto’s delicate throat. Prompto whimpers, and Ignis has no idea if it’s the implied threat or his words, but he keeps talking. “His Highness is staring. Gladiolus came inside him,” he says, to Prompto’s quiet groan, “and he’s covered in come. But even he can’t look away from you like this.” 

Can’t look away from _us_ would be more accurate, Ignis thinks. Gladio is fixated on Prompto, true, but as Ignis speaks, the Shield’s amber eyes lock with his own. Ignis cannot read him. 

Prompto lifts his head, just a little. Ignis presses down - the back of the knife won’t cut, but it still hurts, still makes it hard for Prompto to breathe. Prompto falls back and simply lets Ignis ride him, his strangled cries urging Ignis on. Ignis keeps his pace steady, and as he relaxes, he angles his hips so that Prompto is hitting his prostate every time he grinds down. He doesn’t let himself make noise, not when he’s trying to stay in control, but he digs his nails into Prompto’s ribs. 

He’s so tight around Prompto’s cock he can feel when he comes, a sudden throbbing and then a gush of heat. Prompto moans, quiet, almost pained, and Ignis keeps the blade at his throat until he goes quiet. He wants Prompto, and all of them, to remember that he drew that sound from Prompto, how much Prompto wanted this.

All at once he _needs_ stimulation. He lets the knife drop back into the Armiger, safely out of the way of accidents. With his hand free he can stroke himself, hard and fast as he’d refused to allow Prompto. It takes almost no time at all for him to come, quiet and intense, still bent over Prompto’s body. It takes longer to recover, and he keeps his head down for several seconds before he feels strong enough to pull himself away. 

He turns Prompto on his side, unwraps his makeshift restraints, and massages his fingers to make sure there’s been no damage. Prompto squeezes his hands and flips himself back over to curl into Ignis’s lap. He pulls the blindfold off his own face, rubbing at his eyes a little.

Ignis smiles and strokes his hair, heedless of the stickiness remaining on his hands. “You did so well,” he says.

Prompto is smiling, even as he yawns. “Are we good?" he asks.

Ignis is taken aback by the question. His hand stills in Prompto's hair, and Prompto's brows knit together. He sits up. He doesn't move away, though. "Iggy? You okay?"

"I'm fine," he says. He grips Prompto's waist tightly, and looks at the blood still trickling down his chest. "Did you think I was angry at you?"

Prompto snorts and shakes his head. "Nah. Come on, Iggy, give me a  _little_ credit. I meant, you know. All of us."

Ignis looks at the others. Noctis is sitting in Gladio's lap, but facing him this time, his face tucked into his Shield's shoulder. Gladio's fingers card through his hair. When he sees Ignis watching him, he offers a small, shaky smile. It's an unusual expression on Gladio's scarred face, and Ignis takes it for the token of peace that it is.

"Yes," Ignis says. "I believe we are."

Prompto kisses him, quickly and gently. "I'm gonna go clean up," he says. "Stay here, relax for a second."

Ignis offers him a potion, but as expected, he turns it down. Instead he sits up, grabs the nearest boxers and shirt - the shirt is his, but the boxers are Ignis’s - and heads outside.

Noctis picks up his head when Prompto crawls past him on the way to the door, and decides he's going out, too. Gladio attempts to follow, but before he can even get to his feet, Noctis tells him, “Stay _here_.”

Ignis should really have a talk with Noctis about using that kind of command without explicit consent, he thinks, as Gladio sighs and drops back on the floor. He watches Ignis with an almost ashamed look on his face. Neither of them speak until the tent zips up again.

"I do believe they planned that as well," Ignis says into the slightly charged silence.

Gladio snorts. "Yeah."

Ignis tries to think of something to say, but Gladio gets in before him. “I guess I owe you an apology,” he says. “I didn’t give either of you a fair chance.”

“You jumped to conclusions.” Ignis doesn’t add _as you always do_ because he thinks it’s well enough implied. Gladio has had enough put on him tonight. “I don’t blame you, because I hardly trusted myself. I do now. Is that enough for you?”

“Yeah. It always should’ve been. I’m sorry, Iggy.”

Ignis replies, a little stiffly, “Your apology is accepted.”

“You’re good for him,” Gladio says. “Good for all of us.” 

"I'm very glad you think so."

Soon, Noctis and Prompto will come back, and they’ll all cram themselves onto the two sleeping bags left clean, and fall asleep for at least most of the night. Now, Gladio reaches out for Ignis, and Ignis goes to him, to wrap the Shield up in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> DON'T WORRY I'M GOING TO FIX IT I PROMISE
> 
> I just really wanted to get this one out there.


End file.
